Whine and Dine
by Cardio Necrosis
Summary: House is really, genuinely horrible at meeting the parents. House/Wilson established.


**Notes:** I entered this fic into the Everybody Lie Challenge on house_wilson, so you may have read this already. Thanks to theletterv.

Whine and Dine

"Hand it over," Wilson commands, and sticks out his palm.

House stares at him innocently. "Hand what over?"

"I'm not letting you sedate my parents."

House refuses to give away anything. "Whatever gave you the idea I would sedate your parents?" he asks instead, then slips on his motorcycle jacket. He mentally congratulates himself on how believable his voice sounds.

Wilson puts his hands on his hips and tilts his chin down. He's wearing jeans and a green sweater with his sleeves rolled up. Wilson has nice arms; House never plans to get around to telling him this, though. He suspects he knows, anyway. Hence the arm-porn. "Oh, I don't know—the fact that you sedated the mother of the last person you dated?"

"But I wouldn't do that to _your_ mother." He even bats his eyes this time.

Wilson's eyebrows raise halfway up his head. "House." Their eyes meet, a common occurrence—more now than before, obviously—and House shifts his weight onto his other foot.

Sighing, he reaches into his pocket, and thumbs the pill bottle. He clenches his fist around it, and for some reason, it feels more like a lifeline than it should. He pulls it out and the pills rattle in the orange container. Wilson reaches for the bottle, but House retracts his hand. "I'm not good at meeting the parents," he states plainly.

Wilson lowers his hand. "You've met my parents. Several times, in fact."

"Well yeah, as your best friend. Not as the guy who violates their son on a regular basis."

"Yes, my parents still believe I'm a virgin." He drops his chin briefly to underscore the irony.

"They still think you're an ass-virgin," he points out rationally. House knows he's not Wilson's first in the men department, but he doubts his parents have any idea. He waits for Wilson to confirm, but he doesn't; he just keeps staring at him, and House, twisting the pill bottle in his fingers, sighs again. "I'm not good with meeting parents," he repeats, and it's the truth.

None of his girlfriends' parents had ever liked him—not even Stacy's. They, in fact, had thought her quick decision to move in with him was a horrible idea, and the entire time they had dated they'd never changed their minds. He'd barely scraped by dinner with Cuddy's mom by the skin of his teeth.

He stares at the pills in his hand, then closes his fist around them.

"Just be yourself, House."

Wilson trusts him; trusts him too much, perhaps. Or maybe House just doesn't trust himself enough. He knows what being himself around parents turns out like—sure, Wilson's parents haven't minded _before_ but this is different. They're dating now; they're not just friends, and that's frightening. There are things that perhaps his parents will let slide from a friend. And he doesn't know how his parents are about the whole gay thing. House's mother hadn't been surprised in the least, considering she'd caught House making out with an old friend in his room once—but they'd never talked about that again—and, well, if she'd already known that he likes men and that he's always with Wilson, it's not like it would come as a surprise to her, and she had asked about their relationship on several occasions.

Still, House's mother is not Wilson's parents.

With that thought in mind, he sticks the bottle of pills back in his jacket pocket.

"We've been dating for two months, I think it's time we tell them."

"Tell them what? That we're best friends who have sex exclusively?"

Wilson smiles. "You know I think they call those 'significant others' now." Wilson starts running his hands across the lapel of House's jacket and his shoulder, as if brushing off invisible lint. His lopsided smile is soft and House scoffs lightly.

Wilson brushes House's mouth with his own briefly. House opts to hold onto Wilson's bare forearms; they keep him grounded, it seems. "So, what do you expect me to say? 'I've been pounding your son in the ass pretty regularly. Great spaghetti, Mrs. Wilson' and we'll take turns frolicking in tulips?"

"My parents aren't much into gardening," Wilson says nonchalantly with a shrug. "House, I'm not expecting anything from you. We're having a dinner, we're going to tell them, and… That's really all that matters. You don't need to worry about keeping your mouth shut or how to act. I'm not Cuddy. So give me the pills."

"But what if they—"

"What? Don't like you? House, they _do_ like you."

"You'll be disappointed if they don't," House accuses.

"House, we're doing this, whether you like it or not. So hand over the pills. You can punish me later."

He quirks his eyebrow, because it's easier to joke than be honest about how much he worries about this. "Promise?"

"I already bought the cuffs."

He smiles but it doesn't quell the fear. Yes, he's met Wilson's parents before, but it's never been anything worth noting; they didn't chat for hours, they didn't get along famously; they were introduced, they had some conversation… This was opening himself up into an entirely new family. And if they couldn't accept him, then they couldn't accept Wilson—and he did _not_ want to be blamed for that.

Wilson must have sensed his unease, because he kisses House soothingly; nips at his bottom lip, flicks it with his tongue, and House tilts his head and welcomes Wilson; coaxes his tongue into play; slides his hands up his arms and then down; the wet, slow sounds of their lips caressing filling the room; perhaps he can distract Wilson with the kiss.

Or maybe Wilson is distracting House.

He clasps onto Wilson's wrist as it nears his motorcycle jacket's pocket and pulls away. Wilson's brown eyes glint, and House smirks despite himself. "Manipulative bitch."

"Stubborn ass." He pulls his wrist free, but he doesn't go for the pills again. "I'm not Cuddy. I'm not going to ask you to… Get along. I just want you to be you. You don't need to… Fake this. Besides, if you sedate them, how can I trust you won't sedate me?"

House scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Oh, please. You drug a guy once—"

"Ah, bit more than once, House."

"Twice." Wilson's pinched smile was at odds with his shaking head and folded arms. "All right. You drug a guy a couple of times, and it's like he never trusts you again."

"I also have an aversion to grape soda. The trauma was just too much." House snorts, and Wilson's eyes darken; not angrily, and he unfolds his arms to tuck a nonexistent lock of hair behind House's ear. "It took us forever to get here, House. Do you really think I'm going to throw all of that away because of, what? My parents might not like you? I'm a big boy now. I don't need their approval for this."

"You trust me." Wilson nods; looks at House's shoulder and dusts something off. This time, it's probably dandruff. House checks; yep. He meets Wilson's eyes again. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"I trust you to be yourself. You have no reason to hide that; and that's what sedating them is. Hiding. You might completely ruin it… By, oh, referring to pounding me in the ass, for instance. Or, well, depending on my father's tie and mother's sweater…" He sighs and pinches his mouth closed; Wilson may not be the nattiest dresser around, but… Well, there's a reason why his sartorial decisions were sometimes ridiculous.

"I won't be polite. And if they don't like us dating and start arguing, I won't sit quietly."

"I know."

"And if your mother wears that salmon-colored pony sweater, I might cry pools of blood."

"I may very well do the same."

"Things could go wrong, Wilson. _Very wrong."_

Wilson tucks his finger underneath House's chin and his thumb traces his bottom lip. "I'm prepared for that."

House wants to scream. Wants to drag Wilson away, somehow erase the idea from his mind entirely; delay the problem, perhaps indefinitely, because he just doesn't get along with parents. He never has, and probably never will; in fact, Wilson's parents are the first to ever not outrightly despise him, friend or otherwise.

Instead, he bites down on his lip, gives Wilson's arm a squeeze and says; "I like your arms."

Which, incidentally, he was never supposed to admit.

They don't admit a lot of things; even now.

Wilson cracks a genuine grin and tilts his head down, as if trying to hide it; they're past that, but House likes that they still pretend that they can hide their affection for each other. Instead of it being avoidance, though, it's just foreplay.

"I know," he says, and House knows Wilson understands.

Sighing, he reaches into his pocket and thrusts the pill bottle in Wilson's hand. Wilson smiles. "You're totally getting spanked for this."

"Looking forward to it," he promises and kisses House on the mouth quickly, before turning away and walking towards the door.

House, as he has to detour and grab his cane, doesn't catch up with Wilson until he's slipping into his coat and dropping the bottle into one of his pockets, the resulting clatter of the pills bouncing around inside their case sounding a bit like finality.

He swallows, and Wilson looks at him. "You're still worried."

"Well, let's just say that, on the list of things I'm really good at… Well. That sentence has nothing to do with what we're talking about. So yeah."

"They won't hate you, House. Come on." He opens the door and they both slip out, House's cane ticking alongside their footsteps.

It wasn't technically them he worried about, so much as the consequences of the very likely possibility that they wouldn't like him. Still, they'd covered that. He just couldn't understand why Wilson was so damn positive. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

He shrugs. "Well, I am a confident sort of guy."

No he wasn't. Wilson was just as pessimistic as he was. House narrows his eyes. "You're _too_ sure."

"That . . ." Wilson gives him a sidelong glance, accompanied with a smirk. "…or I told them we were dating a month and a half ago."

House glares.

"Come on, coming out with my boyfriend during dinner? I wouldn't do that to you. Or me, for that matter. 'I've been giving Jimmy the reach around for the past two months, and I mean that literally.' I'm not _that_ much of a masochist."

After all these years, he still managed to pull a fast one on him.

"Manipulative bitch," he accuses affectionately.

"Stubborn ass," Wilson reiterates in the same tone.

And with a surge of pride, House loops his arm through Wilson's, inhaling his scent. He's always been really fond of how Wilson smells, not that he'll ever admit to that.

Well.

Maybe.


End file.
